Side Thread -- Cramer and Abigail

(OOC -- This is the Side Thread between Cramer and Abigail. It begins here, in the main thread.



Cramer:

He burst through the door of the Employees Restroom, stomped his way to the back of the two-stall head, stomped to the sink counter, stared into the mirror ... then reared back and punched the mirror with a loud crack.

He pulled back his punching hand -- which likely had a broken bone or two now -- and, grasping it in the other, bellowed a profanity. As he grimaced and cursed himself for being so stupid -- as well as being so distraught over Samantha, who, essentially, had been no more than a just a fuck -- he realized that his exasperated breathing wasn't the only excited breathing in the room.

He spun, pulling his .50 caliber Desert Eagle with an eased motion, and shifted his aim from stall to stall. There were no feet visible below the doors, but he had no doubt there was someone there. Gray was supposed to have cleared all the rooms at the heist's outset, but Cramer was now wondering how well the man had done his job.

"The first thing my mama ever taught me," he began, his deep voice filled with emotional anger, "was to count on my fingers. So ... I'm going to count the fingers on the hand that isn't pointing a big fucking pistol at you ... then, I'm going to unload it into the stalls ... One ... Two ..."

Abigail Kramer

Abigail jumped back as someone pushed the door open from outside and just went backwards into the captain, while the guy didn't see her, even as he crushed the mirror. He was insane. For a moment she hoped that he would not notice her in his xxagarated state. She didn't had the time to lock or even properly close the cabin door, but it blocked the site. She heard him shout from outside. Should she stick up her hands and walk out? She couldn't even if she wanted to. She felt like paralized. She crouched on the floor of the cabin, as good as it was possible in that narrow space. She had an crazy idea. "Let him shoot through the door, and the bullet will fly over you and hit the wall. And you play dead then and he will leave again."

"... three ... four ..."

Cramer was beginning to wonder whether he'd heard anyone at all. Then, the sound of shuffling fabric reassured him that he wasn't alone after all.

There was, of course, a round already in the chamber, but in an attempt to intimidate the person in the stall, he jacked the slide, sending the expelled shell across the small bathroom; the metallic sound that had been so well popularized in a multitude of crime and war movies filled the tiny bathroom. "Five!"

He waited ... and still there was no response. He waited another moment -- a shot concern Taylor and, even worse, likely draw in the cavalry from the street -- then began cautiously crouching, searching the floor, the aim of his pistol moving back and forth between the two stalls.

Then he found her, and it definitely was a her. Shapely, female legs in black tights followed the stall's edge, the woman practically squished into the back of the stall on her knees. Cramer knelt a bit more, finding her hands on the tile; they were empty, not that he'd been expecting a weapon, but you could never be too careful these days in gun-happy America.

He moved forward, pressed the end of the Desert Eagle's barrel to the stall door -- it was aimed directly where Cramer assumed her head to be -- and found it unlatched. "I'm going to push this door open, lady, and if I see your hands rise from the floor, I'm putting a bullet through what your mama always told you was the face of the most beautiful child in the world."

Abigail

"Don't shoot!" wailed Abigail. She tried to say more, but she coulndn't think of anything, so she just stammered a bit, while she kept her position at the floor, afraid to make any move at all.

"Don't shoot!" the woman wailed.

Cramer pushed the door open enough to see the woman clearly, then -- overtly being intimidating -- he slammed the stall door open with great force, barely missing her head with the sheet metal barrier.

"Get up!" he bellowed, reaching in and grabbing her by the collar of her dress. As she struggled out of the tiny space, he continued to order her forward, hollering, "C'm'on, hurry. Hurry! Get you you're fucking feet!"

Abigail

Abigail get on her feet, staggering a little as he pulled at her black top, while she sumbled on her pumps and in the tight pencil skirt. She raised her hands, but only at half hight not sure what to do.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Cramer practically spat out at her. Once she was to her feet and steady, he pulled, then pushed her toward the counter, pinning her facing the mirror between the sink's edge and his own waist. He grabbed a handful of her blouse in the middle of her back, controlling her, and -- so she could see it in the mirror -- put the big semi-auto pistol to her head behind her ear. "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing in here?"

Abigail

"I was just at the toilet" she whinced. "I'm Abigail Parker..bank employer." She looked at her own frightened face, as she spoke, seing him towering behind her, his large gun at her head.

"Bullshit!" he hollered, pressing the pistol hard enough to her head to cause her to lean over, slapping her hands to the counter's tile. ""What the fuck were you doing in here?"

The woman, Abigail, repeated her answer, and -- as he repeated his question once more -- repeated it yet again, her voice cracking a bit as his rage began to accelerate.

Cramer's mind was whirling. The woman was probably telling the truth, he knew; the bathroom simply hadn't been properly cleared during those first minutes, obviously. But he was angry -- angry and hurt -- and he needed someone to take it out on. Unfortunately for the bank employee, she was who the Navy Seal had found.

He pushed his groin up against her ass, pressing her solidly against the counter's edge and ran his free hand over her body forcefully, asking, "Where's the phone. You were in here calling for help, weren't you...? Where's the fucking phone?"

Abigail

Abigail nearly cried, but had no tears yet . "I have no phone...please believe me." Her voice was unstable an shrill, as she was close to panic.

Cramer's search -- which was little more than a groping -- revealed nothing ... except, he soon realized, a quick growth spurt down below his belt. He looked into the mirror at the the woman; she wasn't too bad looking. She wasn't Samantha -- a hard bodied, flirtatious teenager with more sex drive than sexual discrimination -- but then who the fuck cared? A pussy is a pussy, he told himself.

"Where's the phone?" he asked again, knowing already that she wasn't concealing one. His voice was calmer, but his groping search was more intrusive. He jerked at her sweater-like blouse, pulling it up and out of the thin belt high about her waist. "I know you have it on you."

He shoved his hand up under the blouse, continuing to grope above, below, and all over her full breasts. At the same time, he was shifting his hips about, positioning his now fully hardened dick between the cheeks of her butt. God ... nice ... that's nice, bitch...

Abigail

"No..No..I haven't anything...stop that..." protested Abigail faintly. She was pinned between him and the sink, and she wasn't very big to fight him off. She could do nothing as she felt his hands groping her breasts, exploring her laca balconette. She made protesting sounds and shrieks, while she was squirming in vain.

Cramer lacked the control over the woman that his lust filled desires demanded. He lowered the Desert Eagle, slipping it back into the holster at the small of his back. His now-free second hand moved to her upper back, pushing her forcefully down to the counter between the two small sinks.

When she called out against what she had to know was coming, Cramer leaned hard over her, grabbed a hand full of black hair, and pulled her head back and to the right so she could see him out of the corner of her eye. She squealed as he growled, "You make a sound, and I'll kill you. A big fucking hole ... through the back of your head. They'll be cleaning that beautiful face of yours off the mirror, do you understand?"

She nodded her head quickly; she was scared, immensely so, Cramer could see. That was good, of course. He recalled the motto from his military days: Shock and awe. Scare the enemy out of his pants, and he'll forget that he even has a weapon in his hands.

He released his hold on her hair, lifted one leg, and pulled a double-sided throwing knife from a scabbard around his ankle. He held it in his hand so that the blade was flat against his palm, then reached under and up the back of Abigail's top until his hand came out the high neck at the base of her skull.

"Let's see what you look like under this thing, shall we...?" Cramer asked, turning the knife and positioning the blade. With one quick, long pull, he easily split her top, from neck to waist, dropping it open to expose her back.

He looked down at her and smiled. Nice. Not eighteen and blond ... but still ... nice!

Abigail

Abigail yelled in terror as she felt the knife close to her back, cutting up her top. As her upper body was pressed down on the counter between the sinks, she could se her own face and her now squeezed, breasts in her black bra. Suddenly she realized what was going on, as she could feel the bulge now, pressing against her bottom.

"Shut up, bitch!" Cramer growled, moving the knife around to her face, pressing the cold metal of its wide, flat blade against her cheek next to her eye. He leaned in closed and whispered, "Scream again, and I but your eye out."

She continued to whimper but stopped screaming for a moment.

Leaning over her, he began grinding his groin against her ass, his solid dick pressed between the cheeks of her ass. Her said with a bit of a growl, "My god woman ... you feel good..."

He grasped her hair again, lifting her hair so she could see him in the mirror just before her face. "You gonna be quiet ... and take this peacefully? Or ... do I have to hurt you?"

Abigail

Abigail whimpered, as he jerked up her head again. He was so hard now that she could feel his erection through her skirt. "No..no.." she whinced. "I'm fortysix... let me go, please..."

"Forty-six?" he asked, smiling broadly. He flashed the knife to her in the mirror again, then lowered it and laid it upon her back. As she cringed at the cold steel, he told her, "Then I'm going to guess you're not a virgin anymore ... so--"

He lifted her up from the counter by her hair, then with a quick slash of the knife, he severed the back strap of her brassiere; in the rear of her, the black elastic flew apart, and in the front of her, the lacy, wired "c" cups popped upwards, exposing still-impressive, full breasts.

Abigail

Abigail shrieked, as she felt the cold steel and the strap snapping off. Just in reflex, she tried to cover her breasts as she saw them bouncing in the mirror. Besides their size, they were not saggy yet, but it was quite some time ago that anyone had seem them exposed.

Cramer quickly slapped a his free hand over Abigail's mouth and his knife hand under her neck, placing the knife against her throat and growling, "Scream one more time, and I'll cut your fucking voice box out. Understand?"

Abigail

Abigail nodded quickly, but kept her hands on her breasts.

Cramer looked the woman over for a long moment, then pulled the knife back away from her neck. He reached behind his back and slipped the blade between his belt and his pants at the small of his back. He smiled devilishly to her in the mirror. "Abigail was it? Fine. Abby ... I think we need to have a bit of fun, don't you? How about you lower your hands so that I can see you."

She hesitated; her hands were trembling slightly.

He cocked his head at her and widened his smile. "Abby, baby ... there are only two ways to do this. My way, and my way with you getting hurt. Which do you want it to be?"

He looked to her breasts in the mirror, then gave her a little gesture indicating it was time to let them out for some fresh air...

Abigail

Abigail lowered her hands slowly, and put them onto the counter. She did not want to do this, but she was afraid to resist. She saw her own reflection in the mirror; stripped except her skirt. She looked good for her age, and her large breasts were in good shape. She wondered if she could reason with him. but looked at the crack in the second mirror and her throat was closed again.

"Nice, Abby," Cramer said, the tone in his voice one of true admiration. He was settling down, his anger dropping dramatically as he pushed aside two facts -- that his girl friend hadn't wanted to see him again; and that Abby was not here by choice. In his mind, he was fantasizing that Abby wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

He reached a hand around to one of her breasts, groping it gently, squeezing a nipple between her fingers. "Nice, Abby ... I mean it."

He swapped hands, groping the other full, fleshy melon while he ran his fingers through her hair. This continued for a long moment, the groping, fondling, and petting.

Then, anxious, he reached between their bodies and began unbuckling, unbuttoning, and unzipping...

Abigail

Abigail trembled as he started to grope her breasts, and running his hand through her hair. As he zwisted her nipple between his fingers, it reacted. She wasn't aroused at all, but more excited and frightened, but the touch made it hardening, although she did not want it. She felt his hand behind her back, unzipping himself... "Oh my god" she thought. She put her hands on her hips, as if to secure to her skirt.

Cramer laughed. "No, Abby baby. Let it go..."

He coaxed her hands away from her skirt, reminding her of the two ways warning. He unsnapped the skirt, then pulled the zipper downward. It dropped neatly to the floor about her ankles, revealing the second half of her sexy undergarment set.

"Beau-ti-ful," Cramer complimented her. As he caressed first one hand, then the other over her buttocks, he said with humor, "Forty-six my ass ... or, actually, your ass. You're thirty-six if you're anything at all..."

Returning quickly to the more forceful Cramer of earlier on, he returned a hand to Abigail's back, pushing her down to the cold counter top again. He manipulated the front of his boxers, opening the fly and pulling his hardened and impressively sized penis out. Wrapping his hand around it's tip and pressing his hand against Abigail's pussy, he quickly found her hole and pushed.